Victor Roy, A Masonic poem | Page 2

height, where
the true Light has birth. The beautiful angels passing up, with all our
prayers to God, Our tears and moans, our fading flowers, all stained
with mire and sod-- And coming down; ah, many a time I have blessed
the Lord above, For His pure descending angels, bringing Faith, and
Hope, and Love. There was a time when all this wealth of glory was
lost on me, And I was like a rudderless ship, far out on the rocking sea,
I had a friend, oh that blessed word, we had been parted for years, And
I wandered one day to find him, my heart had no cloudy fears. That day
stands out in bold relief upon Memory's wreck-strewn shore, Like a
beacon light in the lighthouse, undimned by the rush and roar. 'Twas a

day in the early June, the clover was red in the field, And the zephyrs
garnered the kisses, the gentle violets yield. Birds sang, and the
sunshine flickered out and about through the cloud, What had a day
like that to do with a pall, a coffin, a shroud? I stood in a flower-decked
churchyard, and on the procession came, Why did I ask to be answered
back, that his was the sleeper's name, Nearer now to the dark brown
earth the band of his brothers turned, And on snowy aprons and collars
of blue the merry sunbeams burned, I, like a suddenly petrified stone,
stood mid the crowd that day, And with ears which seemed to be leaden,
I listened and heard one say:
"Brother, we have met before,
Where the Tyler guards the door,
We
have given the well-known sign,
That has blent our souls with thine,

Now this eve, thou giv'st no word,
Back to our souls deep stired,

For the Angel Tylers wait,
At thy Lodge Room's mystic gate.
"Brother, thou art taking rest,
We must still the wild storm breast,

We must build through mist and night,
Thou hast seen the quenchless
Light,
While we hew the shapeless stone,
Thou hast bowed before
the Throne,
While we tread the chequered floor,
Thou hast pass'd
the golden door.
"Oh Companion, were we there,
Ended every pleading prayer,

Ended all the work and toil,
Gathered all the fruit and spoil,

Finished all the war of sin,
By the Warden's hand shut in,
Brother;
once again with thee,
What would our first greeting be?
"Loved Companions, we have given,
To the guardianship of Heaven,

Our Brother's precious dust,
And in memory of the just,
Be it
ours still to guard,
All he loved, with watch and ward,
Till like him
we reach a shore,
Where these sorrows come no more."
"All he loved," I knew as I stood there, he loved not one of that band
As we had loved in our boyhood days, heart to heart and hand to hand,
They called us David and Jonathan, for our hearts were knit as one,
And now I saw him left alone, in the shades of of the dying sun; Was it

his spirit beside me stood; for do not their spirits come, Relieved from
all burden of earthly dross, and win us up to their home? Was it his
spirit urged me on, to seek for the Orient Light? It seemed that I should
be nearer him if one in that mystic rite, Never a Syrian ready to perish,
needed more timely aid,
Never a pilgrim knocked at the door and
found more restful shade, Aye, time has carried me on some way, since
the hour I saw the light, And morning has gone, noontide has gone,
now soon must draw on the night. I heard the young lads in the office
talking about me to-day, I did not mean to play the part of
eaves-dropper in their way, They were wondering who in the name of
fate, I would find for my heir, Wondering why I never was married,
there are some so proud and fair, They knew I could have for the asking,
and so they went on with their fun, Till the "Senior Partner" gave a
cough, and then all their mirth was done. But I asked from Heaven
though I know the way is mingled flower and thorn, That not one from
partner to porter may bear all I have borne. So Jasper thinks I am sad;
how the wintry winds whistle to-night! Heaven grant no poor woman
or children are out in this sleety blight. I cannot read this eve; what ails
me? "Chronicle," "Tribune" and "Times," Lie looking coaxingly at me,
I heed not their prose or rhymes, Is it thinking so much of Arthur,
brings Aimee before me here, Aimee, my idol, my darling, my pet, who
always spoke words of cheer, Did I say what brings her near me
to-night, she is with me every day. God help me, for Aimee's another
man's wife three thousand miles away, Oh how we loved! there's no use